


Memories

by dragonsshades



Series: DragonsShades Dragon Age Shorts [3]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition, Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Alistair is a Softie, Character Death, Dead Mahariel, Dead Warden (Dragon Age), F/F, F/M, King Alistair, Major character death - Freeform, Memories, Poor Alistair, Remembering Origins, Remembering the Dead, set in inquisition
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-29
Updated: 2019-01-29
Packaged: 2019-10-18 21:23:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,016
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17588678
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dragonsshades/pseuds/dragonsshades
Summary: A very self indulgent short story about both Alistair and the Inquisitor remembering the Grey Warden before her death.





	Memories

Mehra folded her hands in front of her, clasping her fingers together. She waited patiently as one of the king's guards opened the door to the king's study room.   
  
"Inquisitor," The guard addressed her, gesturing for her to enter the study. "The King will be here shortly. If you would please be patient as he finishes up his current dealings."  
  
Mehra gave the guard a curt nod and entered the study room. The guard shut the door behind her with a slow creak.   
  
She slowly paced further into the room, coming upon the King's desk. Her dainty fingers danced along the edge of the dark wood before returning to her side. On his desk was a pile of papers, a rose, a statue of a crow, wooden Grey Warden figurines, and a piece of weathered stone that looked as if it had belonged to the ruins of an old castle.   
  
Mehra eyed the papers, recognizing them as deals and permits - papers the king must sign for his people. She picked up the statue of the crow, reveling in how heavy it was. It was a beautiful opaque black, and she figured it must have been carved out of Onyx. She set the heavy statue down once more.   
  
Her curious fingers played along the rough carved edges of the wooden figurines, recognizing them as famous Grey Warden warriors. They seemed to be in good condition, as if the king cared deeply for them. She flicked one of the figurines, gently knocking it over.   
  
Her attention moved on to the piece of stone, her hand hovering above the ancient artifact. She could feel it humming, with what, she did not know - pain, suffering, agony, perhaps even a little bit of magic. She hummed when she recognized where it had come from. The stone was a piece of the ruins of Ostagar, a part of a column, or maybe even the bridge at Ostagar. She only recognized it because of the faint hum of magic emanating from it. She passed through Ostagar only once before. The King had given Ostagar to the Dalish so that they might have a land to call their own and to settle down...but of course, nomadic roots were ingrained into the Dalish. Ostagar only served as a trading outpost nowadays.   
  
Finally, she picked up the rose that adorned the King's messy desk. Woven within the beautiful rose was a strong magic, ancient and timeless. The magic preserved the rose in its current condition, not allowing even one petal to fall off and decay. Underneath all the magic, she sensed a strong feeling, something that made her heart melt as it did nearly twelve years ago when she was with her...  
  
Annika Mahariel, the Grey Warden, and hero of the Fifth Blight...her love was woven in right alongside the magic. Mehra gasped and gently set down the rose. She remembered...she was sixteen winters old when the Grey Warden died. Annika was so beautiful on her pyre, dressed in golden armor, a dagger clasped in one hand, and the rose...the rose clasped in her other hand.  
  
Mehra turned around, her back facing the desk. The very armor that Annika wore (and had originally belonged to King Cailan) was on a stand in the corner of the King's study, Cailan's shield resting by the boots of the armor set. Next to the armor stand, to its left, was a plaque with two crossed daggers and a bow in between - Annika's weapons of choice. On the opposite side were a dagger and a great sword, the great Grey Warden, Duncan's weapons.  
  
"I see you're admiring my collection." A deep, tired voice addressed Mehra.   
  
Mehra startled, turning to the King who stood by the entrance door of the study. She bowed her head. "King Theirin. I apologize...I did not think you collected items of such worth to you."  
  
Alistair let out a heavy sigh and entered the room, shutting the door behind himself. He walked a few paces until he stood next to Mehra. He turned to the armor in the corner and crossed his arms over his chest.  
  
"The people you lose...sometimes you need reminders of the good memories you've made with them. With the Warden...I had no name, no title. I was no king, no heir, no Warden. I was just Alistair, and there was something very liberating about that."  
  
Mehra understood how he felt. Being around her companions when they weren't saving the world...she was just Mehra. She was not the Inquisitor, savior of the world, or even a Dalish Elf. She was who she wanted to be. She only felt so sad when she realized Alistair no longer had that. He was unable to be anyone else but the King nowadays.  
  
"I understand, my King."  
  
"These mementos I keep...they're to remind me of the family I made. They're to keep me sane." His brows furrowed and he turned around, facing his desk. He picked up the rose.   
  
"You know...when I came to...after the defeat of the Archdemon...I found her with this clasped close to her chest, smiling at the heavens above. And I just laid next to her for awhile."  
  
Mehra turned to her king, noticed the pain in his dull eyes. She placed her hand on his shoulder, her fingers digging into the thick furs wrapped around his shoulders. She figured that like she, sometimes he just needed someone to remind him that everything would be okay. The future was not as bleak as it looked.   
  
"You will see her again, my king." Mehra whispered, not willing to break her King's resolve by speaking too loudly, too comfortingly. "At the gates of the Maker or in the Beyond."  
  
Alistair set the rose down as gently as she had, no doubt scared that it would shatter into a million tiny pieces and he would lose a part of Annika. His shoulders sagged and he leaned over his desk, bracing his hands on the wood. "Now, my dear Inquisitor. Shall we get to business?"


End file.
